When the winds blow in the mountains, they create a music with the river and leaves of deodar, oaks and pines. A man never thinks of poetry, but observes it, feels it. The words do not exist then, only music. The soul of the mountains one cannot capture in pages. I have only tried to write about the music, and a little more from elsewhere. Mountains send the winds to other places too.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Lotus
A boat full of lotus and pink morning
he reaches out to pick another.
As the leaves of lotus surrender
she watches and wonder
if someone, once, cared.
Home
To see from where the sky falls
learn to hear from the butterflies
they'll guide you to a secret bridge
to come to mountains
my home.
learn to hear from the butterflies
they'll guide you to a secret bridge
to come to mountains
my home.
Subjects
I have a dream
to learn the language
of smoky water
leaving a home
reaching me at the river
a longing
to teach geography
how a longing evolves
on surfaces
making seas
to sit in a classroom
full of weather
drawing a longing
on graph paper.
Science
He stands at the edge of the world
from where the rivers fall
into space
She stands at the edge of the mountains
from where the rivers fall
into earth
He wants to jump
to reach her
but our discoveries in science
haven't told us yet
if the rivers move in a loop.
The Sea Inside
make me out of madness
dressed in summer humidity
my eyes explode
my hands explode
the lights explode
it is dark inside me
it is dark inside me
take my insanity
from deep inside me
तुम्हारी नाराजगी
तुम्हारी नाराजगी भी तुमसे हँसी कम नहीं
मैं और करीब होता हूँ ज़हन में
तुम चुपचाप शिकायत कर देती हो
मैं लिख लेता हूँ तुम्हारी उँगलियों से
अपना नाम, मुजरिम
मीठी मीठी बातों का
तुम भी यही तो कहती हो
मैं और करीब होता हूँ ज़हन में
जब प्यार से गुस्सा करती हो...
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